Species Barrier
by Sweet Jelly Hearts
Summary: ...or lack thereof, in this case. In which Alfred is the last of his kind, and sees no harm in spending his days with a particularly scholarly "human." Everyone has their secrets, however, and Alfred will learn that Arthur's secret is a dangerous one, indeed. Middle Ages AU. Elf!AlfredxVampire!Arthur. Request by Luciangrl.


Like most good stories, this one begins on a dark and stormy night. It is a time when witches and warlocks and faeries and elves and monsters and demons of all kinds are being hunted down and executed by the terrified humans of the dark ages. It was not a pleasant time to be a magical creature in Europe. Nevertheless, our protagonist was being chased through a forest by villagers because, try as he might, it was very difficult to hide his Elvish features and pointed ears when he tried to mingle amongst humans.

He was running as fast as he could, but since he had been run out of an inn, he was very tired due to lack of sleep. The mob behind him was getting closer, the rain was beating down harder, and the temperature was dropping. The forest floor was slick, and though the trees had helped him in situations before, they seemed adamant to only get in his way this time, with low branches beating him back and undergrowth tripping up his feet. His footing betrayed him and he fell several times, covering him in freezing mud and sapping his already low strength as he tried to pick himself back up.

He made it fifty more paces before he felt his right foot become lodged in a hole, twisting his ankle painfully and causing him to fall. He stayed down and closed his eyes, unable to find the will or strength to get back up, listening to the yelling of the mob, feeling the chilling rain drench him further, and bracing himself for the end.

The end did not come, though.

He heard someone coming towards him. At first he thought it was a member of the mob, but then he realized that the mob was coming from the opposite direction. No, this was someone else. He felt himself being picked up and slowly carried away. He did not dare open his eyes for fear that whatever had picked him up was not exactly friendly.

Despite their slow pace, the elf heard the shouts of the mob growing more and more distant. His supposed savior did not speak. He felt himself drifting off into unconsciousness due to sheer exhaustion, despite the danger he was in. The rain did not seem to hit him anymore, and the soft rocking of his savior's walking slowly lulled him into a restless sleep.

* * *

The elf was more than surprised to find himself waking up in a bed made of soft hay, draped in a thick patchwork quilt. The room was lit and heated by a small glowing fire in a stone hearth. Aside from the fire, it was dark, with no windows to give the time of day. The walls were made of hard-packed dirt, as if he were underground. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the room, he supposed, save for the man sitting in a chair in the corner.

He had dirty blond hair cut in a short, scraggly style that fell over his forehead in tangled strands. His eyes were green, almost comparable to emeralds, though the elf was sure he had never seen an emerald reflect firelight quite like that. Above those eyes were dark eyebrows thicker than a man's finger. He must have been wealthy and learned, as he was reading a thick book, bound in dark green leather. The elf knew how to read and write and speak Elvish, as was customary and expected of his kind, but his knowledge of English was limited to spoken word. He did not understand the scribbles in the books and scrolls of humans.

The man looked up at the elf, and there was a silence as the two looked at each other. The elf did not know what to make of his situation. How long had he been asleep? Where was he? What was that dull pain in his neck?

Who was this man?

"So," the man said, marking his place in the book and standing up. "You're awake."

The elf nodded.

The man walked closer. "You were very nearly killed, lad."

He nodded again.

The man crouched beside the bed, close to the elf's face. "Do you know how to speak English?"

"Yes," the elf croaked out, voice thick with sleep. He cleared his throat, speaking more clearly this time. "I can speak it. I cannot write it, but I can speak and understand."

The man hummed. "Do you have a name?"

"Yes," the elf said, but then hesitated. "I have one. My name is Alfred."

"That doesn't seem like a very Elvish name to me."

"It is the name I adopted," Alfred explained, "for when I am around humans. I do not wish for you to know my true name."

The man nodded. "Fair enough."

"May I ask who you are?" Alfred asked. "Were you the one who saved me?"

"My name is Arthur Kirkland, but only to strangers and polite company," Arthur said. "I would like it if you would call me Arthur."

Alfred gave a nervous laugh. "All right. And… And you did save me, correct? From the villagers? How did you do that?"

Arthur frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about. I simply picked you up and carried you to my home. I thought you would die in that rain. You should be grateful."

"I am grateful!" Alfred said. "But… but there was a mob… they were chasing me…"

"You must have been delusional," Arthur explained smoothly. "From the cold. Or maybe it was just a dream."

Alfred felt that there was something wrong with Arthur's explanation, but he did not press the issue. "I suppose," he said. "Yes, that makes sense."

Arthur smiled a close-lipped smile and stood up. "Good," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go out on an errand. You should get some rest." He went to a wardrobe and took out a cloak, draping it over his shoulders and drawing the hood. "I'll be back." And then he went through a door and outside. Outside, Alfred noticed, where it was nighttime. And then Alfred was alone.

If Arthur thought that Alfred was tired enough to lie and sleep until he got back, then he was sorely mistaken. Save for the bit of pain in his neck, Alfred was feeling better than ever. He decided to get up and explore the little one-roomed house.

There was the fire, and the chair Arthur had been sitting in, and the wooden wardrobe he had gotten his cloak from, but there was also a small table, and a rug covering the dirt floor, and herbs of various kinds hanging by threads from the ceiling to dry, and a bookshelf full of thick tomes and jars holding mysterious things. Alfred picked up a book at random and flipped through it, not at all surprised to find it written in the scrawling, looping words of English. There were drawings depicting different sorts of plants, some Alfred recognized and others he did not. He guessed it was a book on the healing (or poisoning, judging by the hemlock and oleander and nightshade that Alfred recognized) properties of plants and berries. It seemed like a useful book for a human to have. He put it back where he found it and picked up another book.

This one seemed to make very little sense at all. Alfred did not even think it was written in English. The symbols looked completely different. There were no pictures, either, and Alfred quickly lost interest. He put that one back, too. If only he could find one in Elvish, he thought, but knew how unlikely that was. His people were known for their books and scrolls and stories, but after years of being hunted down, the number of books left was a pathetic few. The last time Alfred had held an Elvish book was many years ago, when he had first learned his language as a small boy. He longed to read another.

Five, then ten, then twenty books passed through Alfred's hands, all sure to hold a wealth of knowledge, and yet he understood none of it. He had thought that since Arthur seemed to have so many books that maybe he might find something he could understand, but that did not seem to be the case.

It was then that he saw it.

A grey book, worn from reading and rereading and traveling, engraved with the silver letters of Elvish on the front cover. It was beautiful. It was a treasure. It was understanding in this mass of English confusion. He opened it and nearly cried from happiness. It was a story as old as the Elvish language, told over countless generations. It was a story he had heard time and time again from his parents before they had been killed by hunters. He had heard the old words of the story, of a small boy named Eldin who had been abandoned by his parents for being too meek. He was taken in by a warlock, who became his mentor, and the boy became powerful with his new-found magical talent. The elf and the warlock went on many adventures together, and when Eldin finally saw his parents again, they were sorry for having ever abandoned him. The story held many meanings to his people. That there was potential in everyone was one, and another was that warlocks are friends to the Elvish people and have been for a very long time.

The story gave Alfred hope that even though his parents were gone, perhaps he would meet someone who would be close to him like the warlock had been to Eldin.

Alfred read the story cover-to-cover, and when he finished it, read it again. This cycle went on until he heard Arthur come back. He looked up just before the man closed the door to see that the outside was barely painted with predawn light.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Alfred slammed the book shut and put it behind his back in a worthless attempt to hide it.

"Nothing," he said. Arthur frowned.

"You have a book," he observed. "I thought you could'nt read."

"I can, but not English. I told you. Of course I can read Elvish!" Alfred said, a little indignant. "And why do you have a storybook in Elvish anyway?" he demanded, holding up the book. "Especially this one. It is a very old and precious book to my people. Why do you have it?"

"I wanted to preserve at least a little bit of your culture," Arthur said. "You of all people should know that Elvish books are very rare. Although I don't understand it, it's better than it being in the hands of those... those barbarians who wish to burn up every trace of your people ever existing."

Alfred suddenly felt very guilty for being upset with Arthur. He turned the book over in his hands "You mean... you saved it, even though you cannot read it?" It seemed to be a very noble thing for a human to do.

"I kept it all these years because I thought that one day, I would meet an elf willing to teach me the Elvish language. That was before the killing started. I thought that I would never find someone with knowledge of your language. That is, until I found you last night." Arthur dipped his head in a short bow. "If I may make my true intentions clear, I would like for you to teach me to read and write in Elvish. I will repay you in any way I can."

"You will do anything?" Alfred asked.

"Within reason, of course," Arthur corrected himself.

"I want you to teach me English," Alfred decided almost immediately. "You have so many books, and I want to be able to read them. And literacy is such a high honor in your culture, is it not?" Alfred nodded. "Yes, I want to learn to read and write. And in exchange, I will teach you Elvish."

Arthur smiled another smile that hid his teeth, and held out his hand. "That sounds like a fair trade. It's a deal, then."

Alfred took his hand and shook it. "A deal," he repeated.

It was the beginning of something big, although neither one knew it at the time.

* * *

A fortnight passed, and Alfred was learning the basics of the English alphabet. He learned what sound went with each letter, and he could read and write simple words and sentences. Sometimes he would open up some of Arthur's books and see if he could read any of the little words. There were lots of big words in Arthur's books, though, so it was difficult. He was learning quickly, though, and Arthur always said that he was doing a very good job.

Arthur, on the other hand, was having a bit more trouble with his Elvish lessons.

Since he was learning from scratch without even a basic knowledge of how to speak it, he stumbled over the pronunciation a lot, and he sometimes got confused about which symbol was which. Alfred was patient, though. He used the storybook as often as he could because it was written for children, making it easy to read. Alfred told him he was doing well, too, which seemed to encourage Arthur at times when it seemed he wanted to give up.

Overall, things were going well. However, over this time, Alfred noticed and thought about some strange things.

First of all, he could not help but wonder why his neck had been sore when he first woke up in Arthur's house. It didn't hurt that much, but just enough to be noticeable. Arthur didn't have a looking glass, so he couldn't see what was there, but whenever Alfred felt around the source of the pain, he could feel two tiny puncture wounds that had begun to scab over. He tried not to touch it when Arthur was looking. He didn't want him to suspect anything.

Another thing was that when Arthur talked or smiled, he always did so in a way that hid his teeth. He didn't seem to sleep that often, always reading by the fire or teaching Alfred English. He also only went out at night, which was concerning. These all seemed like things that a… No… No, that couldn't be it. Arthur was hiding something, but it could not be that.

If it was that, then Alfred was in grave, grave danger.

He needed to know.

* * *

It was a normal evening in which Alfred was studying on his bed, and Arthur was reading by candlelight. The door was closed as usual, trapping in the heat from the fire as a storm raged outside. Both "man" and elf were quiet, with the thundering rain and the crackling fire serving as the only background noise. Alfred dipped his quill into the inkwell and glared at the lessons in front of him. This was it.

"Arthur," he said. "Can you look at this? I need help with a word."

Arthur did not say anything at first, but he did mark his place in the book and walked over. "Yes?"

Alfred pointed down at the words he was trying to spell. "How do you spell 'blood?' Is it b-l-u-d?"

"It's b-l-o-o-d," Arthur answered with no hesitation. "Very good job sounding out, though."

"Thank you," he said, and wrote the word onto the parchment. "What about 'people?' I am having trouble remembering that one. There is an O, right?"

"Yes, and that would be p-e-o-p-l-e."

"Thank you," he said again, and wrote that one down, too. "All right, I have a sentence. Tell me if I write it correctly."

And then Alfred wrote in his neatest, most legible handwriting:

D-o-y-o-u-d-r-i-n-k-p-e-o-p-l-e-b-l-o-o-d?

And then Arthur was quiet, and Alfred was quiet, and once again the only noise was the rain and the fire. An unreadable expression came over Arthur's face. He did not frown, but he did not smile, either. His eyebrows were not drawn, but they also were not quite relaxed. His face was neither flushed nor pale, and he made no movement that suggested that he was happy or angry. Alfred got nervous. If he had guessed correctly…

"If I answer honestly," Arthur said finally, looking down. "You will run away. And I will lose the opportunity of a lifetime because of what I am."

Alfred let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and reached out to touch Arthur's face and hold his chin before he could stop himself. "Open your mouth," he said.

Arthur did. And Alfred stared, transfixed, at the striking, white, dangerously sharp canines. Fangs. They were only a little bit longer than normal, but they were pointed to a tip meant to break skin with ease.

"You are a vampire," Alfred said quietly. Arthur closed his mouth and swallowed.

"I am."

"You are a monster."

"I am not a monster," Arthur countered. "I am a creature who needs to drink blood to survive. I am a creature who experiences pain while walking in the sunlight. I am a creature who has been hunted down by humans, who has death wished upon him just for existing, just like you. Yes, I am a vampire, but I am not a monster, Alfred."

Alfred frowned. "You are not like the vampires I have heard about."

"The ones from your stories have lost their humanity. They give little regard to those they feed on, often draining them completely and increasing the vampire population. They are greedy, thirsting only for blood. They waste their immortality on being so barbaric, when they could be doing productive things, like pursuing knowledge."

"That is what you do," Alfred said. "You pursue knowledge. And you live here, quietly away from civilization, where you are safe."

"Yes."

"I understand," Alfred said. "You do not let what you are get in the way of what you want to do. You were a scholar before you changed, were you not?"

"I still am."

Alfred nodded. Arthur seemed to be a noble person. He did not want to be a monster. He wanted to absorb all that the world had to offer while he was safe.

"These are... dangerous times," Arthur said carefully. "I have grown quite fond of you, Alfred. I don't wish to see you hurt. Do you understand, lad?"

"I know it is dangerous," Alfred said, frowning. "But I do not know what you are asking of me."

"I mean that I would like for you to stay here. Live with me for as long as you like," Arthur requested. "It's safe here. I give you my word that under my protection, you will not die by the hands of humans."

"I would be more afraid of dying by your hands, to be honest," Alfred remarked.

"But I wouldn't do that. If I wanted you dead, I would have done something already," Arthur defended. Alfred shut his mouth. He had a point. "It would be no different from what we're doing right now. You would still be teaching me Elvish, and I would still be teaching you English. And when you and I are both fluent, you could leave."

"And if I do not want to leave?" Alfred asked before he could stop himself. There was the chance that he would become attached to Arthur, like Eldin became attached to the warlock in the story. (Things such as sexuality were of no concern to elves. Alfred supposed it mattered even less, now that he was quite sure that he was one of the last of his kind.) There was nothing for him to lose from staying with the vampire.

"Then you may stay," Arthur said with a smile. "I'm sure there are many things we could learn from each other. After you learn English, you may read the books I have collected over the years. Many of them are reference books, but I have poetry and stories as well that I think you would enjoy."

Alfred didn't have to think about his decision very much. As previously mentioned, he didn't exactly have much to lose, and there was much security and knowledge to be gained. "All right," he agreed. "I will live with you. And in exchange for what I know, you will offer me your protection." Maybe he could go out every once in a while and find books to bring back. He was sure Arthur would like more to add to his collection.

Arthur's smile widened. "Wonderful," he said, not bothering to hide his teeth. His eyes were alight with excitement. For the first time, Alfred thought he looked truly happy; it was almost endearing. He supposed he would be happy, too, if he were in Arthur's situation, to have somebody accept him for what he was. Alfred smiled back, catching a glimpse of those sharp teeth in the firelight. He swallowed nervously.

Perhaps he had been a bit too hasty in his decision.

* * *

Seasons slipped away, leaving years in their wake. Alfred knew he had learned as much as he could when he could read and understand even Arthur's biggest book with ease. Arthur had taken leaps and bounds in his Elvish as well. He could carry on a thoughtful conversation with Alfred normally, and he had grasped the grammar and proper syntax that allowed him to write stories of his own in Elvish. And wow, was Arthur a wonderful writer. He wrote down fantastic tales of heroes and kings and queens from a culture that was foreign to Alfred. He would read them out loud to Alfred in Elvish when it was time for the elf to sleep and for the vampire to hunt.

Oh, that had become commonplace as well. At night, Alfred needed to sleep, and Arthur needed to feed. Alfred supposed it was a natural thing. Arthur couldn't go out into the sunlight for long, so it made sense that he went out only at night when he needed blood.

It still sent shivers down Alfred's spine, though. The stories calmed his nerves, and put his mind at rest. He slept with the knowledge that Arthur would be safe; that he would come home healthy and uninjured.

However, all of that changed one warm summer morning.

Alfred was nervous. Dawn had broken over the horizon, the sun slowly making its way up in the sky, and Arthur still hadn't come back. The elf feared the worst. Had he been attacked? Killed? Was he stranded outside in the sunlight? Stranded, and slowly burning to death? The thought made Alfred cringe with disgust and worry.

There was a weak rapping at the door. Alfred jumped up and hurried to open it with sudden hope and relief filling him. Of course Arthur was all right. He could take care of himself. Even if he had gotten caught in the morning sun, the damage would be minimal, because he always wore his hooded cloak when he went out. Arthur would be healthy, and all would be well.

It was these thoughts that made the sight before Alfred all the more shocking and horrifying.

Arthur was there, but not in the condition Alfred had been hoping for. His cloak was gone, leaving his skin exposed to the glaring sunlight. The flesh that was usually pale and smooth was now an angry red, festering with blisters and peeling skin, and still the damage was not done. Even now as Alfred watched, parts of Arthur's face began to char and smoke, leaving behind ashy black patches.

"Arthur!" Alfred cried, pulling the vampire inside and closing the door tight. He ushered him to the bed, and made him sit down, but then he was at a loss as to what to do. How was he supposed to know how to heal a vampire who has been in the sun for too long? "What happened to you? Can you speak? Say something!"

Arthur shook violently and finally slumped his head onto Alfred's shoulder. "Villagers... stole... cloak..." he rasped. "Chased me 'till sunrise..."

"How can I help?" Alfred asked. "I will do anything!"

Arthur shook his head. "No. I need blood."

"All right!" Alfred said without a second thought. He lifted Arthur's head and put his wrist to his lips. "Take mine! Please!"

"Alfred, no-"

"Please!" Alfred was near hysterics. His eyes watered, his heart pounded, his hands shook. He wasn't about to lose the closest thing he had to family, not if he could help it. "Arthur, please, just take it."

"No."

Alfred grimaced and forced the underside of his wrist into Arthur's mouth, wincing as the teeth pricked against his skin. Blood welled up at the tiny wound, and Arthur tried to turn away, but Alfred kept it in his mouth. "Drink," he commanded, trying to sound threatening, but his voice wavered. Arthur looked up at him with resigned eyes. It was clear he didn't want to. But then his tongue flicked out and tentatively lapped at the blood. His eyes widened. He licked again, less hesitant, more hungry, and gradually a side of Arthur came out that Alfred had never seen — had never wanted to see—, and yet here it was. His teeth scraped the wound again, and more blood flowed out.

Alfred fought to stay still so that Arthur could drink properly, but it was difficult when every lick at his skin sent shivers of a foreign feeling through his body. He had expected pain. He had prepared for pain. But this... This wasn't right. He shouldn't be feeling this way. Having your blood taken by a vampire was supposed to be excruciatingly painful. He should have been struggling to keep moans of pain down, but these were moans of pleasure he was trying to suppress.

Soon the flow of blood from Alfred's wrist wasn't enough for Arthur, and he dragged the elf down so he could bite down on his neck and drink deeply from the new wound. Alfred couldn't hold back the cry of pleasure that ripped from his throat. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and he wanted _more._ He wanted to bend down and kiss Arthur, to see what he tasted like, to taste his own blood on the vampire's lips and tongue. He didn't, though. He tilted his head to give Arthur more room to feed, and that was it. He had to remain controlled. Arthur was injured. This was supposed to be for Arthur's sake, not his own.

Too soon, Arthur forced himself away, and Alfred was left a bleeding, whimpering mess. He was confused beyond compare, and his head was light and fuzzy. His limbs were dead weights at his sides, his knees wobbling before giving out. He fell on top of Arthur, too tired to be concerned if he was healthy again. Arthur might have been worried, or saying his name, or trying to shake some sense into him, but Alfred was already unconscious.

* * *

"…fred. Alfred! Please wake up!"

Alfred vacillated between waking and sleeping. His thoughts were foggy and jumbled. Was that really Arthur's voice? Was it a dream? He felt weak. Tired. He wanted sleep, but Arthur sounded worried. Should he open his eyes? A little bit of memory leaked into his mind from the last time he had been conscious. There was pleasure… a lot of pleasure… but there was something before that. It had been morning… Arthur had come home from hunting, but… there was something wrong. Something important had happened. To himself? No, to Arthur. A vision of Arthur, scorched and burning, face contorted in pain flashed in his mind.

Alfred's eyes flew open. "Arthur! Are you all right?" He sat up suddenly; too suddenly, as his head spun and caused a wave of vertigo to wash over him. He fell back, but not before catching a glimpse of Arthur kneeling next to the bed, brows furrowed in worry. He seemed to be healthy again. The blisters were gone, and it was as if the skin had never charred in the first place. "What… happened?" Alfred groaned.

"Oh my Stars, Alfred, I am so sorry!" Arthur whispered, slumping his shoulders in relief and guilt. "I took too much. I took far too much, and I nearly killed you and… Oh, you're alive!" He reached forward and wrapped Alfred in a hug. "Never again. I will never do that to you again. I'm so sorry. So sorry. I'm sorry…" He mumbled apologies for something Alfred didn't remember over and over again. "It must have been so painful. I lost control… I took too much blood from you…"

"Oh!" Alfred remembered. Arthur had gotten caught outside in the sun. He had… taken Alfred's blood in order to heal himself… But Alfred also remembered that he had offered, so the fault was not Arthur's. "It was not your fault. I made you do it… And I do not remember any pain…" Alfred said, puzzled. "It felt very pleasant."

Arthur let go of the elf and simply looked at him. "…What?"

"It felt nice. Sensual… almost." Alfred tilted his head to the side innocently. "Why? It should have hurt, right? Is there something wrong with me?"

"No…" Arthur said. "No, there's nothing… _wrong,_ exactly…"

"Then what _exactly_ is it?" Alfred asked, frowning. Arthur looked away.

"It's a certain… phenomenon that occurs very rarely when a vampire takes blood." He looked almost embarrassed. As if he had been keeping a secret and now it was out in the open. "It only happens if the vampire holds… romantic feelings for its victim. That is why it is so rare, you see. Vampires don't typically take time to get to know their prey," he said dryly, chuckling at first, but then he was solemn.

It took Alfred a moment for the meaning of Arthur's words to sink in, and another for him to realize what they implied. He did not respond in disgust, however. He said nothing, but sat up again, this time more slowly. He reached across the short distance to where Arthur sat with his head down and touched his hand beneath the vampire's chin, lifting his head so that he could look at his eyes. They were scared. It was a foreign look, and one that Alfred didn't like. It was then that Alfred realized that there was an Elvish phrase that he had never taught Arthur. He'd never thought he would have a need for it, and yet now seemed like the perfect time to use it.

"This is a strange time for an Elvish lesson, especially since you are fluent already," Alfred said. "But I just remembered a phrase that you do not know yet." He blushed. It was such a roundabout way of saying it, but Arthur had done the same thing, hadn't he?

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"_Le melin_." The words tingled on his lips. It had been a long time since he had said them, and with as much meaning as now. "Say it."

"_Le melin,_" Arthur repeated with perfect pronunciation. "Alfred, what does that mean?"

"It means 'I love you.'"

There was a pregnant silence in the little room. Arthur blinked once, twice, a third time, and Alfred released his chin. His heart throbbed in his chest, and for a moment, Alfred wondered if Arthur's would have been doing the same if it were able.

Finally, a sheepish smile slowly made its way onto Arthur's face. "Why use such a formal form of 'you?' It should be _gen melin._" His smile widened. Alfred grinned as well.

It was a happily ever after, just like in Alfred's story.

"_Gen melin,_ Alfred."

* * *

_A/N: Well this took a helluva lot longer than it should have._

_The language used belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I did not invent the Elvish language seen here._

_It's been 26 days since I've started this story, and I must say, I'm just a little proud of how it turned out. It feels good that I actually completed a request! It also started up a pretty sweet universe. I think I'll write a prequel with the main pairing as PruCan (because, you know, it's not as if I write too much of that already)._

_If you draw fanart of elf!Alfredxvampire!Arthur based on this story, I will forever love you._

_Thanks for taking the time to read! If you have any questions, comments, or criticism, please leave a review!_

_~Jel_


End file.
